Friday nights in Lent were always soup night in our Catholic family. After evening services at church, we would go downstairs to the multipurpose room and eat with other parishioners. Despite the ritual spareness of the meal, I fondly remember those evenings. A lot of it had to do with the soup, which was warm and comforting. It was also canned and meatless, of course, but at least it was better than frozen fish sticks, another staple of Lenten dinners for Catholics with big families.

Brother Rick Curry, S.J., who has been a Jesuit and cook for more than 40 years, has similar memories from his own Irish Catholic upbringing in Philadelphia. He still practices Lent deprivation, but not when it comes to soup. The recipes in his book “The Secrets of Jesuit Soupmaking: A Year of Our Soups” chronicles his time spent in the kitchens around the world and at various Jesuit houses.

Curry now lives in New York City and runs the National Theatre Workshop of the Handicapped, a nonprofit acting school for people with disabilities. He opened the school in 1977, and created a summer annex in Belfast in the late ’80s, after spending part of a sabbatical at the WoodenBoat School in Brooklin.

I caught up with him the day before Ash Wednesday, between his administrative work and dinner with his Jesuit community in midtown Manhattan. We sat in the center of the black box theater where he produces plays and lives in an upstairs apartment.

We did talk about soup, but first we discussed his earlier book, “The Secrets of Jesuit Breadmaking” (1996), Mel Gibson’s movie “The Passion of the Christ,” the pope, the upcoming election and about being Catholic in the 21st century, which got off to a rocky start for many in the faith. He also told me that the time he spent at WoodenBoat building a nutshell pram was a transforming experience. Because Curry was born with only one full arm – his right arm ends at the elbow – building a boat was a challenge.

But it was also a gift. The time in Brooklin introduced him to an intoxicating landscape and seascape in which Curry envisioned a new calling for his life and work.

“I fell in love with Maine and found it life-giving and renewing, and I wanted that for my students,” he recalled.

While most of Curry’s work has been in theater, the cookbooks and a mail-order bread-making business have revealed another range of talents. He has worked in many kitchens, but most of his cooking these days is reserved for weekends. The reason for writing the books, he said, has to do with the fundamentals of family life he learned as a boy growing up and in the Jesuit communities where he has lived, studied and worked.

“I want to encourage people to cook for their families,” said Curry, who is 60. “It’s nutritional and so spiritually and physically valuable. I was afraid the family really would go the way of the dinosaur. You don’t get paid unless you show up for work. And you don’t get nutrition on any level unless you show up for family. If you fall in love with the family life, no matter what, you will create it, and cooking is one of the best ways to do that.”

Both books include stories from Curry’s family and professional life and are divided into the seasons of the Catholic faith: Advent, Christmas, Lent and Easter. The recipes are easy to follow and often include ingredients and combinations that do not require much sacrifice when it comes to taste. Indeed, many are rich with a fusion of international flavors.

Consider the recipe for Golden Squash Soup, listed under the Christmas category and given to Curry by a friend of his sister, who is a member of the Sisters of Notre Dame. It whirls together squash, chunky peanut butter, dry mustard and cayenne pepper, among other ingredients.

And Oyster Soup, with nutmeg, coriander, cream and sherry.

My favorite is Crab Chowder, recommended as a Lenten soup. With paprika, tapioca, crabmeat and cognac on the list of ingredients, it did not remind me of any soup we had at St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church growing up – not to mention my own mother’s kitchen, from which she fed six children each night.

The recipes, said Curry, come from a variety of sources. When he found one that interested him, he prepared it several times and made adjustments to his own tastes.

“The reason I love recipes from other people is because they become human documents, whether it’s from Aunt Maude, your mother or a Jesuit community in France,” he said. “It all has a life and that’s what I want people to see. After you cook something three times yourself, you own it.”

When I said that some people with two hands find cooking difficult, and here he was doing it so successfully and joyfully with one, Curry chuckled.

“This is tricky,” he said with a smile. “And I don’t mean to be glib, but I didn’t know I had only one arm. I was born this way. I was hungry and went after it. I used what I had and I had parents who showed me options. And you know, we do what we want to do. There are schools for blind skiers. You probably could beat me on the basketball court, but I’m good at cooking. I achieve. I bring joy to other people. It’s a centering thing. It’s a good time to turn off the radio, the TV, the phone, and to use it as time for your self and as a restorative activity. I revel in it. It’s luscious. If there were only one way to make bread, I wouldn’t be able to make bread with one hand. Anyone who says there’s only one way is discrediting the omnipotence of God.”

Curry’s hope for the books is the same as his hope for his students.

“I hope that we nourish,” he said. “To introduce people with disabilities to the arts is a nourishing experience. And learning how to bake a loaf of bread or pot of soup is empowering. That’s what we do here.”

Curry said he was “souped out” after preparing the soup book. Now he is working on a book of desserts. And if his last two books are any indication, the next book bodes well, not only for those who observe Lent, but for families of all denominations.